


The Fall of the Weimar Republic

by stuartdakins



Category: History Boys (2006), History Boys - All Media Types, History Boys - Bennett
Genre: F/M, M/M, Second-Hand Embarrassment, Sexual Confusion, Smut, The Fiona Incident, subjunctive 'verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-15
Updated: 2020-06-15
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:34:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24737008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stuartdakins/pseuds/stuartdakins
Summary: Dakin doesn't know why he didn't think of it before, why he's never known there was a word for it. He's never really had to think about it until now, he supposes - but now he knows, the relief is overwhelming.
Relationships: Stuart Dakin/Fiona, Stuart Dakin/Tom Irwin
Comments: 13
Kudos: 17





	The Fall of the Weimar Republic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cuppaktea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuppaktea/gifts), [Tea_and_Sympathy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tea_and_Sympathy/gifts), [everything_that_is_the_case](https://archiveofourown.org/users/everything_that_is_the_case/gifts).



> Prequel to the We're Not In the Subjunctive Anymore series, but can be read as its own thing. By popular demand - which in this fandom equates to like, three people, but I hope you enjoy it.

With the exam looming ever closer and his workload mounting along with the pressure, Dakin's taken to spending his evenings working at Fiona's place. It's far from perfect, but at least her boiler isn't permanently on the fucking blink - and he doesn't have to hear his mum and her new bloke going at it through the maddeningly thin wall between their two bedrooms. Plus, there's the added allure of being able to de-stress with sex every once in a while (when he has the time, which these days is rare). As with most things, though, there's a trade-off - and in this case it's being greeted at the door by a gaggle of Fiona's younger siblings, making slobbery kissing noises and taking the piss - "ooh, Fiona, your  _ boyfriend's  _ here!" 

He's not going to dignify it by explaining that he's not her boyfriend, not really, they're just shagging - and thankfully he's saved anyway, by Fiona's mum's protests to "leave the lovebirds be" (to which the infernal gremlins eventually acquiesce). He doubts Fiona's dad would be quite so accommodating of his near-enough nightly visits, but he's away on business far too much to notice - he's some sort of salesman, Dakin knows that much, but he's no idea where these endless work trips take him or what Mr Proctor even sells (and something tells him Mrs Proctor doesn't ask too many questions, either). Fiona's saving for a place of her own, she tells him - but naturally the school doesn't pay much, and most of the money goes on supporting her snot-nosed siblings anyway. It's a crying shame, he thinks, that she never had the option of going to uni - she's more than clever enough, and by now she'd be in her first or second year, instead of slaving away under the wandering eyes (and hands) of Felix. 

At school, meanwhile, Irwin is driving him to distraction - setting essay after essay, never quite letting Dakin have the satisfaction of his unequivocal approval. He gets his own back in little ways, though - a comment here, a jibe there - and the teasing is good-naturedly returned. He enjoys the back-and-forth with someone who can keep pace with him (after all, it's why he keeps Scripps around - though Scripps hasn't been in the mood to spar much lately). It's always Irwin, however, who gets the last word - scrawled in red pen at the bottom of his essays, in handwriting he's studied so often he's beginning to see echoes of it in his own. Infuriating man.

"He's such a wanker!" Dakin complains to Fiona one evening as he labours over yet another essay on Dunkirk. "I'm telling you, there's no pleasing some people."

He glances up at the dressing-table mirror in time to see Fiona roll her eyes at him before she buries her nose back in her book. "Who, Tom? He seems - nice enough," she says, diplomatic as ever.

_ "Nice? _ He's a fucking sadist! You've no idea. And don't call him  _ Tom,  _ it makes him sound like a regular person."

"It may surprise you to hear it, but he is. And - maybe he's a bit… blunt about your essays, but - isn't that his job?"

"Doesn't have to be a dick about it though, does he?" Dakin grumbles, before returning - slightly sulky - to Dunkirk. He knows isn't being completely fair - thanks in no small part to Irwin, his essays  _ are  _ improving - and even the way he thinks has changed, as if he can suddenly see in four dimensions and can't imagine how he ever didn't. But he refuses to admit his debt of gratitude to Irwin - after all, he's Stuart Dakin, and he has his pride.

*

He has a good feeling about this latest essay, and he's rewarded - justly, he thinks - when he stays behind after hours to discuss it with Irwin, who tells him in no uncertain terms that he can't find a single fault with it.

"It's perfect," Irwin says, cheeks a little pink with excitement. "It's well argued, and stylishly written, and… I think my job here's done. I'm so proud of you, Dakin."

And there it is again, that little rush of adrenaline he gets when they're winding each other up in class - only it's not just adrenaline, he realises, it never has been, but it's too late now because he's hooked on it, craving for more. 

That's when Irwin kisses him.

It's tentative at first, but he's spurred on by Dakin kissing him back, and it quickly becomes passionate, and rough, and so fucking hot. Irwin has notes on his technique, of  _ course _ , but Dakin shuts him up with another kiss. 

"I can think of a better use for that mouth of yours," he growls, shutting the curtains and locking the door before freeing his half-hard cock from his trousers. Irwin abandons his glasses on the side of the desk and sinks to his knees, not even hesitating to take Dakin's cock into his mouth - and clearly he's a proficient cocksucker, because it's nothing like any blowjob Dakin's ever had. He comes hard and fast and -

And he wakes up in his bed at home, sweaty and confused, and realises with a sinking feeling that he needs to change his fucking sheets.

*

The next time he sees Irwin he's convinced he knows - he doesn't see how anyone could possibly  _ not _ notice the way he can't bring himself to look Irwin in the eye, or flushes red-hot when Irwin asks him a question, or the shiver of excitement he feels when Irwin chides him for taking the piss (or tells him, predictably, that the essay is far from perfect). He tries to convince himself it was just a stupid dream, that he can't possibly be attracted to Irwin because he isn't  _ gay _ , for fuck's sake. He likes girls, and he especially likes having sex with them - though he isn't sure he'd be able to concentrate right now if he tried to with Fiona. Even in class, he barely keeps up - every time Irwin fusses with those stupid glasses of his, all Dakin can think about is him taking them off and sucking his dick, there and then, in front of everyone. And maybe he would be attractive, if he took them off, but who's to say - maybe if his clothes fit him a bit better instead of drowning his skinny little frame like - no, he can't pursue this line of enquiry any further.

Eventually, though, he has to admit that there's something there - something that he can't ignore any longer, no matter how hard he tries. Even when he's whacking out essays at Fiona's, the conversation invariably comes back to Irwin, and there's always a stupid little smile in his voice that he hopes Fiona hasn't noticed. He's decided that the only way to get - whatever this is - out of his system is to sleep with Irwin, satisfy his curiosity and be done with it. It means cooling things with Fiona, however - and if he had it his way, he'd keep his options open, but Fiona's pretty friendly with Irwin these days and he doubts Irwin would go for it if he knew they were still seeing each other. (He doesn't doubt that Irwin's interested though - because why  _ wouldn't  _ he be?) 

That being said, she doesn't make it easy for him - for one thing, the sex has been off the charts ever since she's realised it's the only way to get him to stop talking about Irwin. He plans on taking his time, figuring out the best way to do it without letting on why - but the situation comes to an unfortunate head one evening, when Fiona decides she's had enough.

"I just don't know why you keep coming round," she sighs, "if all you want to do is work and wax fucking lyrical about Tom."

"Well I can't work at home, you know that. And I'm not waxing anything, I'm just saying, he's right - about history being a game. And I didn't realise we were allowed to break the rules, to be different. I like it. It's - freeing."

"So you've said."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. You just talk about him a lot for someone you hate. The other week you said he was a prick."

"He  _ is _ a prick! That's not the point." 

Dakin can feel himself blushing something chronic, and he hopes the light from Fiona's bedside lamp is dim enough that she doesn't notice.

"Besides, if you wanted your evenings back," he continues, "you could have told me to sod off long ago - but you didn't."

Fiona shrugs. "Bad habits die hard, I suppose," she says, her voice gently mocking as she crosses the room to straddle him atop the dressing-table chair. With one hand she pulls him in for a kiss, while the other reaches between his legs to find he's embarrassingly hard already - because of Fiona, he tells himself,  _ not _ because he's been thinking about Irwin.

She lets him pick her up and throw her back down on the bed, squealing with delight as she hits the mattress with a muffled  _ thump. _ It's a favourite game of theirs - she teases him and riles him up just enough that he's a bit rough with her in bed, and he pretends to find her sass irksome, instead hot as fuck. Clothes are thrown carelessly to the floor as they meet in a furious embrace, entangling themselves in one another. He doesn't mean for his mind to wander - truly, he doesn't - but as Fiona kisses her way down his chest and navel and teases the head of his cock with her tongue, he can't help but think of dream-Irwin doing the same.

"Fuck, that's good," he moans. "Oh, fuck -  _ sir…" _

"What the fuck?" Fiona's across the room like a shot, leaving Dakin, confused and naked, to process what he's just said.

"Did you just - " she splutters, "did you just call me  _ sir?" _

Shit. 

"...No?" Dakin says weakly. He's not convincing anyone though, least of all himself.

"Oh, my God." She shakes her head in disbelief and busies herself with picking up clothes off the floor so she doesn't have to look him in the eye. "You were thinking about him, weren't you?"

Amid the mess of clothes she finds Dakin's jeans and chucks them across the room at him, hitting him squarely in the face.

"Have you been thinking about him this whole time, you total, total wanker?"

"No! I haven't, honest. I just - I'm sorry." His voice cracks - and God, it would really top off this whole mortifying evening if he cried, but he holds it together, just about. "The last couple of weeks, I - I've been stressed, and confused, and this thing with Irwin - I don't even know what it is. I've been  _ trying _ to stop thinking about him, I swear. I don't know what's wrong with me."

She sighs, shakes her head again, and the anger is replaced by something worse - pity. "There's nothing  _ wrong _ with you, Stu. You're just-"

_ "Please _ don't say it."

"You're gay."

"I'm  _ not, _ though - I'm really not. Yes, I do like him a bit, I think. But - I still like girls. I - I like  _ you.  _ I'm not - I  _ can't  _ be…"

"Fine. Bisexual, then. Whatever."

"You what?"

"Come  _ on.  _ You know - you like both. People do, it's  _ fine,"  _ she assures him as she puts her clothes back on.

"They do? And - it is?" Dakin doesn't know why he didn't think of it before, why he's never known there was a word for it. He's never really had to think about it until now, he supposes - but now he knows, the relief is overwhelming. "Fuck. That's... that makes - a  _ lot _ of sense, actually. I, um - I think that's me. Yeah. I - I think I'm bisexual."

"Yes, I'm very happy for you - would you  _ please  _ put some pants on?"

"You  _ sure _ you don't want to do this? It doesn't have to be weird."

"Except I see Tom every day at work and he's kind of my mate, and - now I'll just be thinking about you thinking about him - so… yeah, it's weird. You've made it weird." 

Dakin relents and sulkily gets dressed. "You're, um - not going to tell him, are you?"

"No, Stu, I'm not going to tell your history teacher you have a crush on him."

"I don't have a  _ crush _ on anyone," he objects. "I'm not a fucking twelve-year-old girl!"

"Could've fooled me, the way you've been carrying on," Fiona retorts.

"Oh, leave it out, would you?" Dakin snaps, grabbing his homework off the dressing-table and stuffing it back in his bag. "I'm going to finish my essay at home."

"Stuart! Come on, don't be like that. I'm  _ sorry,  _ okay?" She places her hands on Dakin's shoulders - and he hates that even now it makes him feel calmer, anchored, less adrift somehow.

"No,  _ I'm _ sorry," he says at last. "I didn't want you finding out like that - or at all, really. But… I fucked it, and - yeah, I'm sorry. Can we, um - can we be friends, at least?"

Fiona smiles. "We're already friends, idiot. And you don't  _ have _ to leave, you know."

"Oh, I think I should. But - I'll see you at school, yeah?"

She sees him off with a hug and in return he gives her a grateful little smile. When he gets back, though, he finds he's too exhausted to do anything other than lie face down on the sofa, which is how his mum finds him when she comes home from work. 

"You alright, love?" She perches on the edge of the armrest and ruffles her son's hair, earning an exasperated groan from Stu.

"I thought you'd be at Fiona's?"

"I was. I just broke things off with her."

"Oh? I thought you liked Fiona."

"I did - I  _ do. _ Got exams though, haven't I? Can't afford to get distracted."

"Well. That's, um - mature of you?"

"Don't sound so surprised," he scoffs. "Anyway, I thought you were seeing what's-his-name tonight?" 

"No. No, that's over too," she says nonchalantly. "God, we're a pair, aren't we? Well, if we're both at a loose end tonight, maybe we could order some takeaway? Watch a bit of crap telly, like we used to?"

"I've got homework," he says a little too quickly. 

When he looks up, his mum looks disappointed and a little hurt, but he can't be arsed explaining himself. He barely knows what he'd be explaining, anyway - much less how she'd take the news that her son's just a little bit bent. Instead, he absconds to his room to look over his half-finished essay. 

Last week's is on his desk, replete with Irwin's snarky little annotations, and Dakin finds an odd sort of comfort in tracing the scarlet handwriting with his fingertips -  _ like the Allied troops at Dunkirk, your arguments are in serious need of backup'.  _ He mouths the words to himself and laughs silently - and there's that shiver of excitement again, only this time he knows exactly what it means, and the sensation goes straight to his cock (and he decides there's time enough for a quick wank before he starts work on his essay again).


End file.
